


Fenders Drabbles

by runsinthefamily



Category: Dragon Age
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-17
Updated: 2011-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-22 17:20:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runsinthefamily/pseuds/runsinthefamily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various dribs and drabs, Fenders flavour.  Possibly all connected, possibly not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How It Feels

Green light bloomed around Anders's hands as he bent over Fenris's broken bed and began healing the ragged mess that was Fenris's left thigh. The soothing, gentle wash of light was accompanied, annoyingly, with a muttered rant. "Can't come down to the clinic, can't acknowledge that magic might be good for something, oh, no, can't just ask for help so that you don't sodding die ..."

Fenris clenched his fists. "I was healing just fine," he said. "The potions ..."

"Potions are only good if you take them _before_ infection sets in," Anders snapped. The light swelled and then ebbed, leaving clean, unscarred flesh behind.

"Hawke had no right to bring you here." Fenris said through gritted teeth.

Anders gaped at him. "That's my thank you?"

"Yes." Fenris surged to his feet. "Now get out."

"You are ..." Anders sputtered for a moment. "You act like I just _molested_ you, instead of saving one of your limbs. Maker's breath, are you willing to lose a leg to prove a point?"

"It was my choice!" shouted Fenris. "A concept that you seem to have difficulty grasping! Am I not free? Can I not have a say in what happens to my very flesh at least?"

Anders's brows knitted and he opened his mouth, no doubt about to spout more ignorant propaganda. _Let him see_ , thought Fenris. _He wants to understand? Let him._

Fenris strode forward, grabbed Anders's coat, and lifted the mage against the wall. His staff fell, rattling, on the floor, and fire sparked briefly at his fingers, but Fenris ignored it. Anders's mouth was still open, still shaping some kind of spurious argument or protest, and Fenris did not want to hear it. He sealed the other man's mouth with his own. Let him taste what it meant to be at someone's mercy, just a body to be used, no say, no choice.

Anders went stiff and Fenris had a moment of triumph before the mage melted. There was no other word for it. A tiny groan left his throat, vibrating against Fenris's lips, his limbs went pliant, and then he was kissing back, tongue slipping out to meet Fenris's relentless plundering.

Fenris let him go, stepping backward in shock.

Anders stared at him from the wall, eyes glazed, lips damp, head still bent ever so slightly back to expose his throat. He looked ... he looked ...

He bent, snatched up his staff, and fled the mansion. The front door slammed so hard that dust fell from the ceiling.

That - had not gone as planned.


	2. What It Sounds Like

The door to the clinic burst open, bringing Anders out of his seat, clutching for his staff. Justice leapt forward, trembling just on the edge of taking control.

It was Hawke and Isabela and Varric and slung between them, pale and bloody and silent, Fenris.

 _Maker's balls_. He dropped the staff, pointed them to a bed, and rolled up his sleeves. "What happened?" his voice was even, professional, betrayed nothing. He hadn't seen the elf since the last time the idiot had gotten hurt. Since the idiot had shoved him against the wall and kissed him and he wasn't going to think about that, thinking about that was not on the itinerary.

They deposited the elf onto the cot and stepped away to give Anders room.

"Tal Vashoth," said Hawke, shoving his unruly hair out of his eyes. Blood smeared across his skin. "Up the Wounded Coast. He claimed he was fine, and then he collapsed right at the city gates." He drew a dagger and starting helping Anders to cut through the straps of Fenris's armor. "Stupid, stubborn, son of a bitch," he muttered.

"Andraste's tits," Isabela said as the curaiss came away and the wound was revealed.

"Very helpful," said Anders. "Go to the back room and under the bed you'll find a concealed panel. There's lyrium in there. I'm going to need it."

"You can't just - wave your hands, hey presto, he's better?" asked Hawke.

"He's been poisoned," said Anders. "Thank you for that very astute summary of the art of magical healing, though. Now please shut up, this is going to take concentration."

Varric leaned on the wall next to the door, Bianca cradled in his arms. Hawke and Isabela sat on a nearby cot together, shoulders pressed together. Anders called on the Fade and began work.

It was a couple of hours later that he reeled away from the bed. Hawke caught him and eased him down into a chair. The after-effects of lyrium over-use made the lights dance and bloom in his vision, and Justice crooned wordlessly at the back of his mind. "I'm fine," he said. "Just tired."

"We can take him back to his mansion," said Hawke. "Do you want someone to stay with you?"

Anders sighed and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyesockets. "He really shouldn't be moved," he said. "Maker damn it. Leave him where he is, I'll check him again in the morning."

He locked up behind them, set his wards and glyphs, and then retreated to the narrow cubby in the back. Isabela had tipped the cot over to get at the panel and he stared at the sad pile of dirty sheets and pillows that had been his bed for a moment before retrieving his mother's pillow and going back into the clinic. Fenris slept on, his colour much improved, and Anders took a cot as far away from him as possible, tugged the threadbare blanket over him, and fell asleep.

He woke again in the pitch black that was night in Darktown, pulled from sleep by a sound. He lay, blinking, trying to place it. There it was again, a low gasp, a raspy inhalation. A tiny noise, deep in the throat. The next breath broke in the middle, pained and desolate.

Fenris was crying.

"Fenris?" he said, low and careful. _Do not antagonize or startle the magically fisting elf_. There was no response beyond another sob, so choked down and restrained that it was hardly there at all.

He called a tiny magelight, rolled off his cot, and approached Fenris, cautiously.

Fenris was still asleep, curled now on his side, arms up against his chest, head down, legs tucked tight. It was a childish position and the unbearably sad little noises he was making did nothing to dispell the effect. What was visible of his face was wet with tears and twisted with anguish. When the light fell on him, he curled tighter turned his face away.

" _Commodo_ ," he moaned. The words were slurred but clear in their meaning. " _Commodo, dominus, ego precore_."

Please. Please, master, I beg. He was having a nightmare. Fenris cried out again and Anders could not help the twist of pained sympathy in his chest. He reached out, hoping that he wasn't about to have a lyrium-laced hand in there as well, and shook Fenris's shoulder.

"Fenris," he said, as soothingly as he could manage. "Wake up, you're dreaming."

Fenris twitched, gasped a little and then opened his eyes. He blinked, focused on Anders, and then buried his face in his hands. " _Gratias ago sator_ ," he whispered. His lithe frame termbled with each breath.

"Are you ..." Anders trailed off.

"You are staring at me," said Fenris, finally speaking in Common. His hands came away, revealing the tearstained cheeks, the reddened nose, and his eyes, even more lambent than usual. Tears still swam in the corners. He sat up, wiping at his face.

"Sorry," said Anders. "I just ..."

"Just wanted to see my pain?" Fenris said. "Unsurprising."

"No," said Anders through his teeth. "You are my patient. You're in my clinic? I'm responsible for your welfare while you are here."

Fenris closed his eyes and gripped the edge of the bed. "Again he disregards my wishes," he muttered. Unexpectedly, another sob shook him, even though he gritted his teeth and tried to choke it down.

"Is there - something you need?" Anders asked.

"For you to stop staring!" Fenris shouted, hunched over, and sobbed again, his arms wrapped around himself. "It ..." he gasped. "It will stop ... just ... leave me be."

Anders stepped away, doused the magelight, and waited, awkwardly, as Fenris gulped and coughed and swore thickly. Eventually he wound down into wet sounding sniffles and deep, sighing breaths.

"Here," said Anders, holding out a kerchief and outlining it very faintly with magelight. There was a long pause before it was tugged from his hand.

"Do not tell the others," said Fenris. It wasn't exactly a request but neither was it a threat.

"I won't," said Anders. He really didn't want to say it but the healer in him would not let him stay silent. "If you want to talk ..."

"Spare me your hollow sympathy," said Fenris.

Anger sparked in Anders's gut but he kept his reaction to a frustrated exhalation. "Go back to sleep," he said. "You're not fully recovered yet."

Rustling told him that Fenris had lain back down. He felt his way back to his own cot, climbed back in, and tried to ignore Fenris's shifting and twitching.

"Mage."

He was a healer, Fenris was his patient. He was not going to snap at him. "Yes?"

"Can you ..." Fenris spoke so low that he could hardly hear him. "Is there a light that you could ..."

Anders bit the inside of his cheek to restrain the wild impulse to laugh. "If you wish," he said when he thought he could control his voice. He summoned his magelight again, fainter this time, and lobbed it up to the ceiling. It was a spell he'd perfected during that year in solitary, requiring only the barest trickle of mana.

Fenris made no comment other than a sigh. His breathing smoothed out, deepened.

Anders lay awake long into the night, holding the light, listening to Fenris sleep.


	3. What It Takes

In the aftermath of the Arishok's defeat, the whole city had erupted in celebration, barely waiting til the fires were put out to roll out the ale and the wine and the music. It made sense, in a way. Three years of tension had finally come to a head and this was the explosive release that followed.

The Hanged Man had been relatively untouched by the violence, and was now packed beyond capacity with people of every description. The noise and the heat would have been unbearable if it weren't for the camraderie, the genuine joy and relief on every face. People hugged and kissed and danced and groped, made reckless and bold.

And in a dark corner on the second floor, Fenris put his tongue into Anders's mouth.

Anders could not remember how he'd gotten up here. He was so exhausted from healing Hawke after the duel, from the crashing relief of realizing that Hawke would live, that it was nearly drunkeness. He'd come back here with Varric afterward for some reason and now it was nearly midnight and he was trapped at the end of the hallway with Fenris draped across him, smelling of wine and musk.

Maker, it had been a long time. Fenris had shed bits of his armor at some point in the evening - his hands, long and elegant and naked, delved under Anders's coat, plucking at his thin shirt, sliding against the bared skin of his waist.

"Fenris," he said when the other man released his mouth at last, leaning back to tackle the buckles on Anders's coat.

"Shut up, mage," said Fenris, thought it lacked the usual heat.

"Is this really -"

Fenris yanked his coat off and threw it aside, then took hold of Anders's collar and dragged him in close. "Say no," said Fenris. "Say no or shut up." His irises were a narrow ring of green around the blown pupils.

"Oh, fuck it," said Anders and grabbed two handfuls of silver-white hair.

It was less a kiss than an all out assault, teeth clashing, tongues dueling. Fenris shoved a hand down Anders's trousers and Anders bit him on the lower lip, drawing blood. Fenris snarled something in Tevine and shoved Anders backwards. His back hit the wall, half knocking the breath from him, but he still had one hand buried in Fenris's hair and used it to drag their mouths together again.

It was like a madness, and the more they kissed and swore and fumbled, the hotter it burned. At last Anders pulled away long enough to open the closest door and drag Fenris into the room, still by the grip on his hair. It was empty, though Anders really didn't know if he'd have stopped even it had been filled wall to wall. He slammed the door, slammed Fenris against the door, and took his mouth again.

Clothing ripped a little as they grappled. Shirt and tunic and and boots and then they were on the bed, winding their legs together, grinding and grabbing. Anders laved his tongue along every tattoo he could reach, and Fenris half-screamed, half-moaned under him. Justice was singing inside now, as drunk on the buzz of the lyrium as Anders was on the taste of Fenris's skin, salt and wine and dust and _want_.

He bit Fenris under his ear and then sat back, pulling Fenris's hips up the slope of Anders's thighs, wrenching at the laces of his leggings. Fenris snarled and swore but did nothing to stop him yanking the fabric down and letting free Fenris's erection.

"Maker," said Anders. He heard the growling echo of Justice in his voice, and no wonder. Lyrium parted at Fenris's belly and spilled down his thighs, framing the untouched beauty of his cock.

"Mage," Fenris growled.

Anders hooked Fenris's knees over his shoulders, cupped that tight ass in both hands, and lifted. He took Fenris's cock to the hilt in one smooth movement. His eyes watered a little but he ignored the discomfort. Watching Fenris arch his back and claw the bed and toss his head back and forth was worth it.

He swallowed.

Fenris shouted something incomprehensible and flailed. Anders pulled back, gasping. Fenris glared up at him, flexed his legs, and tumbled them both to the floor, where he proceeded to rip the laces of Anders's pants right through the loops and strip the garment off as though it had offended him. He fisted Ander's cock, hard, and Anders hissed at the friction. He dropped a hand over Fenris's and summoned grease.

The tattoos all along Fenris's arm flared with sullen light as the spell went off, and Fenris narrowed his eyes. Abruptly he was straddling Anders, and when had he gotten rid of his leggings? One lyrium-laced hand descended on Anders's throat, the other guided Anders's cock ...

"Wait!" Anders said, somewhat constrictedly. "You'll hurt yours - uhg!"

His cockhead popped inside Fenris and the heat and pressure was overwhelming. Not so much so that he missed the way Fenris's lips pulled back over his teeth, the sudden hunch of his shoulders.

"Stop," he choked out, but instead Fenris ground down another inch. _What the bloody Void?_ Anders put both hands to Fenris's hips and called up spirit energy, seeking and soothing the stretching, straining muscles inside the other man.

The look on Fenris's face was possibly the most satisfying thing Anders had ever seen. Sudden anger, washed away by surprise and then slack-mouthed pleasure. Anders let out a laugh. He'd used magic in the bedroom before but this was a new trick even for him. The lyrium tattoos seethed dimly under his fingers.

Fenris slammed down and Anders bucked upward in reaction. Then they were fucking, hard, Fenris still gripping Anders's throat almost hard enough to damage, Anders planting his feet against the floor and digging his fingers into Fenris's hips, feeling with the lingering remnants of exploratory magic the bruises that were forming. He shoved a little, changed the angle as best he could, and was rewarded by the way that Fenris cried out above him.

Oh, Maker, he was going to come. He called more grease, switched one hand to Fenris's cock and worked it as fast as he was able, rough jerks and squeezes. Fenris hunched his shoulders briefly, let out a single almost-sob, and then his whole body arched backward so strongly that he nearly threw himself off Anders altogether. Anders's belly and chest were laced with his come. He slumped, gasping, loosening his grasp on Anders's throat.

Anders took the opportunity, rolled them, and pinned Fenris beneath him. Fenris sprawled limply across the floor, eyes hooded, mouth open. Maker, he was beautiful, the more so like this, all the hate and ferocity fucked right out of him. Anders thrust four times and came, convulsively, almost painfully. He nearly passed out afterward, his weariness crashing down on him like a collapsing wall. He slumped onto Fenris and listened to their panting breaths in a daze.

"Mage." Fenris sounded - unsure.

Anders levered himself up, disengaged, and fell to the side. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Fenris got up. Anders knew that there was something he was supposed to be doing. He would do it, too, in just a moment. He shut his eyes.

When he woke up, someone had tucked him into the bed. His coat hung on the back of the door. There was no sign of Fenris.


End file.
